


Hello, Goodbye

by allie_bo_ballie



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5551391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allie_bo_ballie/pseuds/allie_bo_ballie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another mpreg!Kurt tale—the one where Kurt exaggerates an injury so Blaine pays more attention to him than that couch-surfing fiend, Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> About a fourth of this was written after getting a plot bunny from the episode 'New New York' during its original airing & I recently decided to continue it.

… … …

Not for the first time that night, a rumbling noise cut through the walls of Kurt's bedroom. He pressed his lips together in an attempt to hold back a whine. “God,” he snapped as a hoot then followed an echoing _thump_. “Enough already.”

His eyebrows twitched, the muscles around Kurt's eyes and mouth pulling tight enough to ache. His face felt stuck in a surly expression; he couldn't remember how not to glare. He welcomed a rare moment of silence, one that was quickly interrupted by an eruption of... giggling. Voices flowed through the door from the adjacent room where a pair of dorks were heavily involved in some _stupid_ video game. He sighed into the darkness, his jaw painfully stiff since he'd long lost the ability to unclench his teeth. Kurt rolled his eyes in exaggeration when he heard the commotion from a drawn-out shushing session. He inhaled deeply and tried to calm down, to let his breath out slo—

“Whoa, dude! Nice.”

Shut up, Sam. He fluffed his pillow with a fist. 

“Ha, take that. And take it again.”

Kurt sat up in bed, red-faced and breathless. There was an enthusiastic shout, then a muffled string of f-bombs and “shit-balls.” He gasped, feeling a sharp burst of activity from the equally fed-up fetus renting out his womb. Now they'd done it. A knot of anger finally unraveled in his chest and suddenly, Kurt's feet were on the floor. Well, at least the rush of anger numbed the dull pain in his hips and lower back from moving too quickly (/at all, really). He flung the door wide open and charged out awkwardly as ever due to a “slight” waddle (one he would _deny_ ). Holding a hand to the underside of his pregnant belly, he made a wobbly beeline for the entertainment system.

His husband spoke up first—a stupidly surprised utterance of, “Kurt?”

In his peripheral vision, Kurt noticed that Blaine had dropped his wireless controller and uncrossed his legs to rise from his seat. He ignored him in favor of unplugging Sam's game console from the wall. Sam's loud swearing fueled him; oh, it gave Kurt strength. He paused for dramatic effect before turning to face them, a scowl furrowing his brow. 

“Bed,” he commanded sternly. At least his growly voice rattled Blaine. He gaped at Kurt, visibly confused and maybe a little afraid. Sam just unfolded his long legs from under him and stretched them out, effectively taking over Blaine's abandoned spot on the couch. He seemed unfazed as he sipped from a can of beer. Kurt barked out another, “Bed,” and gestured toward their bedroom. Blaine pointed a finger at himself in a silent question. “Hello, it is two-thirty in the morning. You have an an audition to be at in five hours, Blaine. And then, right after that? Work, you have work because you have a job. Why are you still staring at me? Go!”

Blaine, God love 'im, pouted and scoffed. He had scampered off wordlessly and all adorably, his eyes narrowed in a near petulant manner from Kurt's scolding. For only a split second, Kurt's mouth tilted into an amused half-smile at Blaine's ridiculous behavior. In thirteen weeks, they would be first-time parents. _Parents_ , him and Blaine. In the meantime, he could cut his husband some slack. He couldn't blame Blaine for internally freaking out over the very new, very permanent roles they'd soon have to play—and without any kind of rehearsal or a script to follow. It's scary, he thought. And exciting. He and Blaine just had different ways of processing the anxiety that came with a life-changing event. As planned as the pregnancy was, they weren't any less nervous. Luckily for their marriage, there were a few things Kurt could bring himself to understand and/or excuse to a degree. 

“Earth to Kurt. You gonna plug that back in or what?”

Sam camping out on their sofa for the past three weeks straight wasn't one of those 'things' to any degree. After all, Kurt had only agreed to a single weekend of Sam's company. Unfortunately for him, Blaine had been feeding into Sam's neediness after a rough break-up he'd had... like, months ago! Once again: enough already. Listen, the only baby Kurt wanted in his and Blaine's life was the one growing inside of him. He rested a hand on his stomach, his gaze softening. _This_ was their baby, the very one they'd spent fourteen months trying to create together— _This_ was the helpless human life who needed their full attention. Not Sam.

He'd worked himself up, he realized belatedly as the baby shifted against the curve of his hand. Kurt tucked his chin down, a soft “shh” leaving his mouth.

Sam squinted at him, appearing mildly offended. “Did you just?”

Kurt blinked sleepily, too tired to keep scratching at the build-up of irritation under his skin. 

He enunciated Sam's name sharply and then a, “Goodnight.” He hoped his tone left no room for argument. There was a beat of silence and Kurt smiled prematurely. 

“Wait, really?”

Kurt could only close his eyes; he squeezed them shut and felt the defeat of hot tears prickling at the backs of his eyelids.

“Come on, Kurt. I'm not even tired yet.”

He sniffed. _That's because you sleep in till noon everyday, you_ bum.

Oh, Blaine just knew. His blinders must've finally fallen off because he was suddenly at his husband's side. He touched Kurt's elbow and stroked his other hand down the slope of his back. There was a look on Blaine's face that clearly read _don't hurt him_ and, in response to Kurt's own expression, his gulp plead a _nay: don't hurt me_!

Blaine's big, beautiful eyes were warm and apologetic. They didn't stray away from Kurt, who leaned into him. “Goodnight, Sam.”

Sam dragged out an airy sigh and then agreed with a shrug and a mumbled, “Alright.”

Kurt's shoulders dropped.

“You're the good cop,” he whispered once they were in their bedroom and Blaine had chased the cat off Kurt's body pillow. His breath shortened, his voice weakening as he continued. “I'm the bad cop. Our child is going to hate me and love you.”

Blaine shook his head and pulled a face in protest. He turned toward him while emitting the sassiest “uh-uh” Kurt had ever heard. He shuffled in close, his mouth finding Kurt's without pause. “Impossible,” he insisted after another gentle kiss. He took Kurt's hand and pressed more lingering kisses along the ridges of his knuckles. Blaine then guided their tangled fingers down to the adored 'bump' nestled between them. “More than once,” he confessed, “I've had that exact opposite thought.”

Sergeant Pepper, the notorious pillow-stealing feline, purred as she rubbed her hairless body along one of Kurt's calves. She had been re-adopted by them after a “personality clash” with her original owner, the one and only Rachel Berry. He glanced up from the cat, a tilt to his chin. He was hesitant to meet Blaine's affectionate gaze.

He swayed his shoulders as he questioned, “You have?”

Blaine frowned. “Uh, yeah. You're so _you_ , Kurt. I just know you're going to be an amazing father. And me, I'm so...” He scrunched his nose. “Me.”

Again, Kurt deflated. Disappointment washed over him, then made an illegal U-turn and slapped him across the face. It hurt, the petty sadness because the conversation had steered away from him; the dismay of learning Blaine had doubts in himself as a parent. It even burned, the regret from his apparent obliviousness to his husband's negative feelings. Within a few blinks, his eyes had gone misty and his face felt hot with a flush of frustration. He had only been fishing for a hearty serving of praise that he could preen under while telling Blaine to shush while motioning for him to continue. 

“Don't—” He stopped, startled by the sound of his voice cracking. “Don't do that.”

His swollen ankles and aching calf muscles took it upon themselves to decide they were done with the whole “standing” thing. Kurt let go of Blaine and backed away slowly, taking small steps until the backs of his legs found the edge of their bed. He sat down heavily, groaning over Blaine's too-slow offer of help. To Kurt, this pregnancy was ruthless; it took everything he had to give and still wanted more from him. Merciless, it drained him physically and mentally. It was like his brain had been completely rewired and now his energy could only go toward overreacting emotionally to literally anything—yesterday he'd had a crying fit over Blaine asking how many packets of sugar he wanted in his tea. 

Blaine's mouth fell open, his eyes widening slightly. “No, no, no. I didn't mean—” He stalled and then glanced off to the side, his eyebrows frozen where they were arched high on his forehead. “I just meant... I don't know?” He sighed, his face relaxing into a timid smile. “I worry, Kurt. That's nothing new and you definitely do not need to worry about me worrying.” Blaine lowered himself to sit beside his fretting husband. Facing him, he leaned in and touched the side of Kurt's face gently. His other hand caressed the front of Kurt's warm belly. “Anyway, it's _way_ past this baby girl's bedtime.”

Kurt smiled, his heart giving a flutter at 'baby girl.' The lines around his wobbling mouth deepened. “I do, too. Worry.” He skimmed his fingertips along the back of Blaine's hand when it paused from rubbing circles above where their unborn daughter stirred for attention. “Sometimes about the birth,” he admitted. “Okay, a lot about the birth—but mostly, I worry about her; her health and the future. Her future. God, Blaine. I get these overwhelming thoughts about her safety in this big, crazy world. I watch too much of the news and it makes me sick, makes me ask myself: 'what are we bringing her into?'”

“Oh, honey. We are bringing her into a caring environment where she has two daddies who aren't only going to protect her, but raise her to take care of herself.”

Kurt sniffed, his fingers now sliding around Blaine's wrist to give it a quick squeeze. “And to think for herself. I want her voice to be heard.”

“Of course,” Blaine concurred with a shaky nod and a sniff of his own. Kurt looked up in surprise, not realizing the emotional effect he'd had on his husband.

“You are you,” he agreed belatedly. “And thank whatever God for that. We're equal partners here, Blaine. This kid is going to need both of us and I couldn't imagine raising her without you.”

Blaine looked ready to cry, his face close to crumpling. At least it would be a happy ugly-cry. Kurt was mostly relieved he had apparently said the right thing. Hormones occasionally clouded his judgement. 

The bedroom door suddenly creaked open, an awful sound. Sam poked his head into the room, not pausing to knock. “Uh, guys? Can I have the password to the Wi-Fi again?”

“We were having a moment, Sam.”

Yes, very good. Kurt was pleased to note the irritation etched into Blaine's expression. This your fault, he wanted to say in sing-song.

Sam blinked. “No one's naked. How could I have possibly interrupted anything?”

_**Enough already x3**_ , Kurt's mind screamed as his blood pressure surely skyrocketed.

“Is he for real?” Kurt had to snap, absolutely had to. “Like, is this some kind of Candid Camera parenting test? To learn patience and crap? I am freakin' failing, if so.”

'I am so sorry,' Blaine mouthed at Kurt while holding an opened hand over his heart—as if that made the apology more sincere. Kurt wasn't buying it, nope! Not yet, anyway. His forgiveness would have to be earned... with foot rubs. Blaine pushed off the bed to stand and nearly tripped over Sergeant Pepper. She hopped up to sit in the warm spot his body had left. “Sam, come on. We need to talk.”

Blaine opened the door the rest of the way and shooed Sam back into the living room. Kurt threw a sour look at Sam's back for his inquiry of, “Was it something I said?”

Kurt breathed out slowly through his nose. The door was shut gently behind them, leaving him alone with his frustrated thoughts and a dizziness that lingered for a moment too long. He promised aloud to his unborn daughter that he was calming down now, slowly but surely. He listened to the sound of voices, the murmurs on the other side of the door quietening. 

He waited a while longer, but then had to rise with such an urgency that he spooked the cat off the bed. “Sorry, Sarge!” He moaned an, “Ohh, boy. Off the bladder, sweetheart. Off the bladder.”

Kurt hurried into the nearby bathroom, grateful that Blaine had left it propped open with a dolphin paperweight after Kurt had blindly dashed smack into the closed door the other night. Blaine had even plugged in a nightlight for him, as if the small smudge of a bruise on his forehead wasn't embarrassing enough.

Hands washed and smelling like cherries, Kurt returned to an empty bed. He pouted, heaving an obnoxiously loud sigh. He climbed in, careful and slow. It always took him a while to get situated, never mind comfortable. He tucked a pillow under his protruding belly. Behind him, Sergeant Pepper made her presence known by nudging a cold nose into the back of his knee.

“Yes?” he asked patiently, showing her his hand so she could sniff it and then rub her whiskers against his fingers. 

Minutes later, a severe lack of Blaine in their bed was making Kurt grumpy. He frowned, wondering if Blaine was busy helping Sam pack up the belongings that he had strewn about everywhere. 

But then Kurt's ears picked up on a laugh.

“You've got to be—”

He almost threw pillows, which would've undone the perfected but still time-consuming support system Kurt had built around his aching body. He struggled to sit up, his attempts woefully unsuccessful. 

“Ah!” he cried out, taken back by a cramp in his calf. He inhaled sharply, nearly choking on a breath. “Ow, ow. Sh—sugar.”

“Kurt?” Now, now that stupid door opened and Blaine actually ran in, to him. He crouched down beside the bed. “What's wrong, honey?”

Sam peered over Blaine's shoulder. “Should I call an ambulance? Oh, fuck.”

“D—don't curse in front of the b—baby!” Kurt scolded through the painful muscle spasm in his lower leg. He grabbed a fistful of Blaine's Star Wars t-shirt. “Dammit, Blaine. Help me, help me s—stand up. Ow, cramp. Cramp, cramp, _cramp_.”

Blaine knew getting Kurt on his feet could sometimes stop the muscle cramp. _Knew_ because he was the one always annoying Kurt with all of his online findings. Yeah, as if Kurt couldn't Google. 

“'Dammit' is a swear word,” Sam pointed out unhelpfully.

“Not now, Sam.” It took effort for him to get Kurt standing, especially since Kurt fought him a little. He didn't take it personally— _couldn't_. “Lean into me if you need to,” he whispered into Kurt's hair. “It's okay.”

Kurt just pouted and whined another, “Ow.”

“Ow,” Blaine agreed softly. 

Sam eventually cleared his throat. “ _Now_ I'm interrupting a moment.”

If he didn't think he'd fall over and flatten his child, Kurt would stomp a foot. Or kick him. Blaine sighed into his ear, huffing along with Kurt. They growled in unison, “Good night, Sam.”

“Alright, alright.” Already shuffling back to his makeshift bed on the couch, he grumbled mostly to himself, “Don't have to tell me twice.”

Rolling his eyes, Kurt sought out to pinch the fleshy underside of Blaine's upper arm. 

“Ow!”

“Yeah,” he droned, “Ow.”

… … …

Later that day, Kurt was in the middle of sinking his teeth into a heavily frosted cinnamon roll when he received a phone call from his agent, Harriet Glazer. His people had teased Vogue with a sneak peek of his newest jewelry line and now a meeting had been set up regarding a multi-page exclusive on the entire fall collection. He cheered over the details, his _yay_ an understatement. After several years of designing jewelry for an upscale department store, the limitations on his creative input had driven Kurt to quit and focus on his own line. The buzz-worthy debut of Hummel Brag had paid for the down payment on their townhouse and a cruise vacation for him and his cutie. 

“Oh, my God! I can't believe—ooh, the baby's kicking like crazy.” Hitching a shoulder up to hold the cell phone against his ear, he busied both of his hands by rubbing them over his wide belly in circles. Calm down, little bumblebee. “She must be happy for daddy, is that right?”

Harriet's laugh was gently sarcastic. “She's happy for herself. Princess wants a cushy life.”

Kurt hummed in agreement, his fingers back to gripping the phone. He rolled his shoulders repeatedly to loosen up after feeling a twinge in the muscle above his shoulder blade. He mentally added _massage_ to Blaine's non-existent to-do list. “That's the goal,” he said through a slight wince as more pain throbbed throughout his mid-back. Addendum: full-body massage.

“Uh-huh, that's my goal. Yours is to finish what you started. We've got a lot of work to get done before you snap, crackle, and pop. I'll handle this meeting and let you—”

“Um,” instantly flew out of Kurt's mouth. “I am going to this meeting, Harriet.” The hesitance on her end made him feel nauseous. His fresh cinnamon rolls no longer looked appetizing. “Unless you know something I don't.”

There was another pause. “You're seven months pregnant.”

He rolled his eyes as he gasped, “I'm what?! Are you sure? D—does Blaine know, too?”

Harriet just sighed. “I figured you wouldn't be up to it. You are paying me to represent you, Kurt. Let me do my job.”

“And let me do mine. Also: Honey, you thought I'd turn down a meeting with freakin' Vogue?” Shifting weight from one leg to the other, he leaned his hip against the side of the kitchen counter. “Knock on wood, but this has been a healthy pregnancy. As of right now, I'm still working my full-time hours and I am excited to do this, all of it. It's what I... live for.” He finished in almost a timid manner, the words not tasting right on his tongue. 

“I can handle this,” she insisted. 

“ _I_ can handle this.”

“Blaine is easier to deal with than you,” Harriet then snapped without any heat. 

Speak of the devil and... While licking the remnants of vanilla frosting off a serving spoon, Kurt heard the jingling of keys from the next room. 

“No way. Have you—” Kurt crinkled his nose, his sweet and sticky mouth pinched to keep from smiling as Blaine appeared in the kitchen. “Met my husband? What a diva. Oh, hello. I didn't hear you come in, Blaine.”

Blaine only shook his head, the grin on his face mostly hidden as he ducked down to greet Kurt's stomach with a kiss. As he rose, he intentionally pulled up on the curved hem of Kurt's shirt so Kurt would swat at him. Instead, Kurt stole the styrofoam cup of presumably coffee out of his hand. He took long sips (yup, coffee) in-between asking Harriet to either e-mail or text message him the full particulars regarding his upcoming Vogue adventure. He wanted to load the information into the calendar on his iPhone. “Pregnancy brain,” he reminded her. _Now_ he swatted at his husband for making a snorting sound.

“You mean your selective pregnancy brain? Come on, it does tend to kick in at the most conveniently random times, like when—”

Kurt shut him up with a glare. Once he hung up with Harriet, he pointed the spoon threateningly at Blaine (who pretended to cower). “Can it, inseminator. It's your job to find me precious and downright perfect in every darned way until—uh, well? For the rest of my... no, no. That's a loophole. For the rest of your life.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Blaine's tongue peeked out from between his lips to wet the pad of his thumb. Cupping Kurt's chin in one hand, he struggled to get Kurt to keep his head still as he scrubbed at a spot of icing at the corner of Kurt's mouth. “Don't worry, I read all of the fine print before I signed the contract.”

“Mm, what a romantic response.” Kurt had already pulled away from him and now he inched his way closer to pick up the opened tub of whipped frosting. He dipped his spoon inside, surprised to find that it was nearly empty. Oops? He would soon give birth to a beautiful cube of sugar. Disappointed, he set the container back down. “You coulda done more with that.”

“You started it,” Blaine huffed. “'Inseminator' is the least sexiest endearment ever.”

He had a point, Kurt guessed. “I don't... not disagree.”

Blaine squinted an eye. “That's a double negative.”

Kurt sounded outrageously offended as he declared, “You're a double negative!”

“Come here, you.” Completely and hopelessly smitten by Kurt's childish retort, Blaine crowded him at once. Kurt's head tipped back as he snorted out a laugh at a new dance move they accidentally created while attempting to fit their bodies snug against one another. His lips were teased by Blaine's before he pushed up onto the balls of his feet and planted a loud kiss on Kurt's nose. 

“Give me a real kiss,” Kurt demanded after making a grumbling noise that got a chuckle out of Blaine. 

“Oh, like a real kiss on the cheek?” He kissed him there. “Or a real kiss on the chin? Or a real kiss on—?”

Crashing their lips together in a dramatic fashion, Kurt hummed an impatient _mmhmm_ against Blaine's mouth. Blaine mimicked the sound, smiling into a more gentle—yet not any less desperate—kiss. Kurt grasped for a fistful of Blaine's t-shirt, his other palm cupping the back of his neck. 

He broke the kiss to accuse, “You're ridiculous.” He then immediately attempted to drag Blaine in again. Except, this time, Blaine's mouth slid lower and lower until he could nip at the hinge of Kurt's jaw, suckle and kiss along the column of his neck. Eyelids fluttering, he moaned—music to Blaine's ears; the sound spurred his actions. 

Kurt almost giggled at how badly his entire body was tingling with unadulterated want. “Oh, my god.” He was close to wheezing. He let go of Blaine to fan both hands at his deeply flushed face. “You can still make me feel drunk.” Like a teenager; virgin. (The fetus turned over in his womb at the latter simile). 

“'Drunk'? Oh, no. That doesn't sound good for the baby.”

Kurt frowned at his husband's continued display of unapologetic ridiculousness. He reached over to press his finger down on a stray curl of Blaine's hair. It had stubbornly sprung up from his gelled-back coif.

“I am ridiculous,” Blaine had to agree cheerily. 

_My husband is ridiculously handsome_ , Kurt thought. _It's freakin' offensive, I'm so angry_. Yet, he smiled like a loon (if anything, a lustful loon). 

“Hey? I've got fantastical news. Hot off the press.”

“Hey, hey. Let me get a guess in this time—you're pregnant?”

Ignoring him and his cheesy smile, Kurt continued. “But I must insist, you first. How did your audition go?”

An off beat of silence. Blaine's eyebrows had jumped, resulting in a 'V' forming between Kurt's. “Oh, yeah. The audition I went to, um. That went, it went... well?” He stepped away, moving toward the cupboard where their glassware was stored. 

How could somebody be such an amazing performer and yet such, such a terrible liar? Kurt breathed out a soft, “Okay.” He smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt from earlier, when Blaine had tugged at it. “Was Artie there? Tina said they weren't sure if—”

Blaine exhaled slowly, wincing as if in pain. He opened the door to the cabinet and then shut it. “I didn't go to the audition for the production Artie is directing,” he admitted. “Sam—”

Oh, of course. “Oh, my god!” Kurt groaned in frustration. He jerked away from Blaine after he closed the distance he had just created to reach for Kurt's elbow. The back of his hand accidentally smacked into the can of frosting, knocking it loudly into the sink. They both flinched at the same time. 

“Sam heard about this... other audition from a friend and it sounded like fun, but it was at the same time as the other one, so I had to... choose.” Throughout his 'explanation,' Blaine had stared down in a wide-eyed fascination at his shoes. 

“'Sounded like fun,'” Kurt echoed flatly. “Y—you blew off a _for real_ audition for a _for fun_ one? You've got to be kidding me. What is the matter with you, Blaine?” He clenched his jaw, not letting that delightful fluttery sensation in his belly distract him. “It's nice to know you're taking your career seriously. Second chances are, in fact, by chance.”

“You're lecturing me?” Anger flashed in Blaine's eyes, but that fire was quickly extinguished; his facial expression softened into concern as he stared at Kurt. “Please sit down, your face is so very red.”

Too late, his emotions had had enough time to flare up and erupt out of his endocrine system like a volcano of intense feelings. Kurt wasn't happy or proud about bursting into tears.

“Why would you do that?” His voice shook, along with his vision.

Blaine's shoulders rose into a forcefully casual shrug. “Sam said we were identical hand twins and apparently that's really rare.”

“Oh, my god.”

“I'm joking, Kurt. Kind of.” He took his pregnant husband's limp hand, relieved he hadn't moved away this time. “It was an impulsive, stupid—”

Kurt sniffed. “Very stupid,” he amended on Blaine's behalf.

“—idea, and I realize that. Hey, look at me.” He squeezed his fingers around Kurt's. Kurt's wet gaze lifted up from their joined hands. “I'm really, truly sorry. I am going to call Artie and I will fix this. It won't happen again, either. You have my word.”

“'K,” was Kurt's mumbled reply while his brain snapped a venomous _damn fucking right_. He then issued a frantic apology to the fetus for swearing, just in case.

Blaine worried his lower lip between his teeth, not looking any less lost or panicked. “So, tell me. What's your news?” He tried too hard to sound chipper and the sudden change in both tone and topic started Kurt.

“Does it matter?” Kurt's sigh formed into a yawn. He let go of Blaine's hand. “I need to go lie down. I feel too drained to even brag.”

Blaine choked out Kurt's name. 

Kurt glanced around the kitchen, his gaze landing everywhere but on Blaine. “Clean up for me, will you?”

“Kurt, please.” Once again, he reached out for Kurt. On second thought, his arm fell back down to his side. He knew better. “Please don't be mad.”

“Not mad, just disappointed.” Now Kurt, he happened to be a fantastic liar because he was mad as hell. He still couldn't look Blaine in the eye, not when he was swallowing back a mouthful of furious word vomit. _Very soon_ , he wanted to snap, _we are going to have a child we need to provide for and you choose now to goof off, seriously?_ Kurt repeated, “I need to go lie down.” No, what he needed was a pitcher of rum and diet cola (and one twisty straw). Blaine said his name again, growing more upset. Kurt knew exactly how to get him to back off for a while. “Don't want to argue, it's making me dizzy.” He had barely spoken above a whisper. 

It worked—Blaine opened his mouth and then closed it. He nodded his head. “Okay. Go lie down, honey.”

It hadn't occurred to Kurt that he might actually fall asleep. Curled up on his side in bed, he had drifted off into a light slumber. It was a creaking noise that later roused him from a dream. He squinted his eyes open, unsurprised to find Blaine leaning against the doorframe, where he lingered patiently; waiting. When Kurt didn't say anything, just continued blinking into the dim light of their bedroom, Blaine toed off his sequin boat shoes and slipped in behind Kurt. His chest pressed to Kurt's back, he rested an arm over Kurt's wait and caressed his hand along the sweet curve of his belly.

Kurt traced his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. After a pause, he huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “Ahh- _ha_ , feel that? Feel her?”

“That's our girl, movin' around all impatiently like she's got some place better to be.” He hooked his chin over Kurt's shoulder. 

“She does, in my arms. Oh. Yours too, I guess. But I get to hold her first, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Blaine agreed. “Go ahead, go back to sleep.”

If only. “I kind of need to pee first, actually.”

Getting up was tough, even with an extra set of hands. “If it's this difficult now, what's it going to be like when I'm at nine months? Heck, or even eight?”

Blaine stayed quiet, a wise decision. 

Kurt's swaying, slow-moving gait nearly hid his limp. The position he had napped in hadn't been comfortable for his hips and lower back and boy, were they ever letting him know. “I'm a swollen mess,” he muttered to himself.

Blaine's voice echoed off the tiles as he called out to Kurt, “You're not any kind of mess!”

“People with penises who aren't messes,” he hollered right back, “don't have to sit down to pee.”

Blaine was upright when Kurt returned, perched on the bed with his hands in his lap. He looked up as Kurt neared him and spilled, “I'm sorry. I almost called you, but then didn't. I knew you'd set me straight and I wanted to go off with Sam and have fun at a ridiculous audition. It kind of felt good at the time, in the moment. Afterwords, not so much. I was, like—um, why did I do that? Maybe I'm going through a mid, mid-life crisis. People kept saying how things are gonna change once the baby's here and I, I thought—” He glanced down, shaking his head. “It wasn't fair to you and you have every right to be upset with me. I am sorry, Kurt.”

Kurt hoped offering Blaine a smile would keep those gorgeous eyes from spilling any tears. If Blaine cried, he would have to, too. He nudged at Blaine's barefoot with his own, gesturing for him to spread his knees. He stepped in-between Blaine's thighs and, while Blaine palmed the sides of his stomach, he bent down uncomfortably to kiss Blaine's forehead. 

“Give _me_ a real kiss.”

Kurt barked out a laugh. He cupped Blaine's face, his thumbs stroking across his cheeks. As they kissed, Blaine had to lock his legs around Kurt's thighs to keep him from losing balance. If their bed wasn't so high off the floor, he would've fallen over already. They were both ready to dissolve into laughter at their increasingly awkward positioning, but then Kurt's demanding tongue was at the wet seam of Blaine's lips again and he just let himself groan audibly.

He pulled away, his gaze stuck on Kurt's mouth. “You, me. Too.”

“What?”

There was something almost shy about Blaine's smile. He lowered his voice as if he were about to share a secret. “You still make me feel drunk, too.”

“Of course I do.” Kurt's smirk was a cocky and yet playful one. “It's my intoxicating personality.” He dipped his head down to brush their lips together as Blaine rolled his eyes.

… … …


	2. Chapter 2

… … …

“No, stop. Elliot, this is so embarrassing.”

Kurt's hands shot up and stopped short of covering over his face. He hadn't wanted to meet up at the Spotlight Diner for lunch with Elliot, but Elliot had insisted on it. Of all places! _But it's where we met and think of all the memories (yes, I am a nostalgic queen 2day)_ were his selling points when Kurt had responded to his suggestion with a text message that simply spelled out, “N-O.”

“So embarrasing,” he repeated in an under-the-breath whimper. Upon his hesitant arrival to the above-mentioned diner, he had attempted to slide into the booth across from his friend. Thanks to the size of his belly and the fact that the table had been crookedly shifted closer to one side ( _his_ side, of course), he'd barely been able to squeeze into the unequal space. After apologizing for his obliviousness, Elliot had stood up to pull at the creaky table, giving Kurt room to fit and breathe. “Now people are staring.”

“As if you mind,” Elliot teased as he sat back down. “And it's probably because it looks like you've got a huge wine stain on your shirt, you pregnant lush.”

“Very good, that is how it looks because that's how it is supposed to look. Can you not see through all that eyeliner, sweetie?” Huffing in jest, Elliot pinched his eyebrows together. Kurt bit back a smile. “This is a Vivienne Westwood. Well, a modified Vivienne Westwood.”

The small lines in Elliot's forehead deepened even more. “You altered a seven hundred dollar shirt to accommodate for a temporary weight gain?” 

“Blaine, I didn't realize I'd be meeting _you_ for lunch.” Kurt craned his neck as he leaned forward and then to the side. “Speaking of which, where's our waitress?” Already impatient, he raised a hand to snap his fingers. Elliot was quick to grab that hand with his own. 

“Hon, don't you dare.”

“Are you absolutely sure you want to be a singer over an actor? I must say, you've committed to an award-winning portrayal of my husband.” _You've worked in the food service industry, Blaine had to often remind him years ago, how can you—no, how about this: how did you like it when a customer snapped their fingers at you?_ Oh, um. Whenever someone had done that, it usually hadn't been completely unwarranted. Sometimes he would get super busy... talking to and performing musical numbers with his co-workers or even Elliot, Blaine, and whichever McKinley High School alumni had been visiting NYC at that time. 

“You know what?” Elliot let go of Kurt's hand to give the back of it a pat. “You're going to miss me while I'm in LA. But Blaine, he's going to miss me _more_.”

“I doubt that,” Kurt droned over Elliot's chuckle. “Don't you worry, Sam will dull the pain.”

Elliot's eyebrows lifted slightly at Kurt's tone. Kurt would've noticed the searching look in his eyes if he hadn't been lost in thought, wondering if Elliot filled in his eyebrows 'cause his game was **strong**. “No way,” he said and then gasped. “No way, is he still—he is. It's been, what, a month? You all must be sharing a bed by now.”

“Oh, no. No, no. Listen, mister: I'm already sharing my body. That bed is mine.” And Sarge's. Actually, Kurt was pretty sure she thought she was only letting him and Blaine use it. Such a gracious cat. He sighed, leaning on an elbow. His palm held his chin up. “Anyway, yeah. For the hundredth time in nearly a month, Blaine's insisting Sam will be out soon. I know, right? At least they're actually apartment hunting this time.”

“You're a saint,” Elliot told him and meant it. Kurt blinked, honestly surprised by the lack of sarcasm. “Remember that time when you conveniently got beaten up by the flu so Rachel had to stay with me while her and Jesse took a 'break'? I still don't know why I let her do that again. After two days of non-stop Berry-mania, I could see how some homicide might be considered justifiable.”

“'Two days,'” Kurt scoffed. “Amateur. You ain't seen nothin'.”

“Yeah, yeah. Why's Sam even back in our fabulous ol' city? I thought he hated it here last night. Uh, right? I can't keep up with all your Ohio friends, to be honest.”

“Uh-huh, and yet somehow you've always managed.” Kurt didn't hide his smile, though it weakened once he started talking about Sam again. “He and his fiancée called off the wedding. I guess their relationship went rotten really quick and it's going to take a while for the smell to go away.”

Elliot pushed his lips out in a silent whistle. “I thought you guys were good buddies because, no offense, it's not sounding like you like him. Like, at all.”

“We were. Are! And he was my friend first, too. But then he stole my husband, so.” The urge to kick at Elliot's feet under the table grew strong. Kurt was not about to scuff his Philipp Plein loafers on those shitkickers, though. “Shush it, you. These pregnancy hormones? Not easy to deal with on a good day and Sam is just, he is always around. I can't relax in my own home because it's like he doesn't ever leave so I can't... 'turn off.'” He didn't like the hint of a tremor in his voice. “Coffee,” he demanded as a waitress bounced up to their table. She hadn't even opened her mouth yet. “I need a coffee and please, no singing. I've heard it all.”

Elliot gave the waitress his drink order and waited until she left to open his mouth. “Coffee isn't all you need. Seriously, Kurt. I have so much to get done before my flight leaves tomorrow. If Blaine shows up at my apartment tonight, I'm not going to have a nice sing-along chit-chat with him to spell out the problem that's in front of his handsome little face. I'm going to flat-out say, 'Go away and go bone your husband.'”

“'Bone,'” Kurt echoed flatly with great distaste. “That's what you think I need, _more_ dick?” Nay, he needed space to himself; to himself and Blaine. He wanted to be able to get his guard down, to unwind and not have to worry about his appearance or the way he acted in front of a guest. Some peace and quiet wouldn't hurt. His body was going through so many, too many changes and what he didn't need was an audience. Especially one that proved incapable of keeping obnoxious and unnecessary comments to himself about things like Kurt's weight gain or the frequency of his bathroom trips.

“Oh, god. I'm a fucking asshole,” Elliot's declaration pulled Kurt out of his thoughts. He was suddenly shoving a fistful of brown paper napkins at him. “Here, here. I made you cry. I made my pregnant friend cry.”

Kurt hadn't realized he had apparently sprung a leak. He sniffed, starting to laugh as he cooled down. Oops. Abrupt, random tears weren't uncommon anymore. 

“Not funny, Hummel. If your husband finds out I'm a horrible person who made you cry, he **will** show up at my apartment tonight. No, really. I'm full-on calling it right now: Papa bear is coming for me.”

Not in any subtle way, Elliot steered the conversation away from Sam by asking Kurt questions about the nursery and if they changed the theme again. Once two cheeseburger platters were ordered and eventually brought out to their table, he shared more details about his record deal while they scarfed down the food. Biting into a french fry, Kurt brought up his Vogue news as if it weren't any big deal. Elliot's exclamation of “holy shit” had heads turning their way.

“I'm surprised, but... like, not surprised. You know? You're Kurt Hummel, of course they want dibs on you.” Catching the time on his cellphone as it lit up with a reminder alert, Elliot pulled a face. “Oh, man. I feel bad to break this up early, but I've gotta lot to get done before my trip.”

“No, it's fine.” Kurt stole a cold fry off Elliot's chipped plate. “I need to get to Trader Joe's, anyway. I'm making lasagna tonight.” Thanks to _totally_ necessary eavesdropping, Kurt had learned a certain somebody would be out for the entire evening. For once, hallelujah. Usually if Sam left, it seemed like it was only while Kurt was already someplace else or when he was fast asleep. So, hell yes Kurt was taking advantage of some alone time with Blaine. A nice dinner, just the two of them. They didn't have much of that kind of time left, a fact Kurt planned on blatantly pointing out to Blaine over a home-cooked meal. He only let himself think about how he looked forward to their dinner date. They had communicatin' to do.

“Damn, I want some homemade lasagna. Where can I get one of you?”

“Surely you've realized this by now: I'm one of a kind, Mr. Gilbert.”

Elliot nodded, sighing softly. “You are.” He nudged his plate forward, signaling Kurt could continue finishing off his fries. Grabbing his leather jacket from beside him, he got up from the table. “Now you've got to let me say good-bye to the pumpkin.”

“No way,” Kurt said through a mouthful of greasy food. “Not again, not in public. Get away from me.”

“I drunkenly serenade your unborn daughter _one time_...”

“'One time,'” he scoffed. “My pregnancy brain isn't nearly as bad as you may hope.” The stiff muscles in his back disagreed with Kurt's first attempt to move. It was beyond difficult to maneuver out of the booth; the busted cushion on the bench seat had him sitting far too low to the floor. “Oof.”

Elliot winced along with Kurt in unwanted sympathy. Kurt didn't want to be pitied for the uncomfortableness of his pregnancy. “Do you need me to move the table away more, or... um, something?”

“No!” Kurt's cheeks filled with warmth at how he'd nearly screeched out the reply to Elliot's stupid question. “I do not—ow. My hip just popped.”

Elliot waited for Kurt to stop grumbling to himself. His hesitance dragged out another pause. “Are you alright?”

“No, I am old and pathetic.”

“Uh, no. You're younger than me so I will not have you calling yourself 'old.'” He offered both of his hands to Kurt to take. “Or pathetic,” he added at Kurt's glare while wiggling his fingers.

“You're a real—” Kurt swatted at Elliot, but then his hands fell down to clutch at the sides of his belly. Elliot sucked in a breath, their faces serious. “Hold on, she's got the hiccups.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” He shook his head, staring at Kurt as if he were actually a golden retriever puppy. “There's no easy way to say this. You're adorable, man. Like, to the point of being too adorable.”

“Yes,” Kurt enunciated sharpy after a beat of silence. He cocked his head slightly to one side. “Some murder _is_ justifiable, Elliot.”

Elliot nearly choked on his laughter at Kurt's delivery. Cold and calculating... and still so stinkin' cute, that Kurt Hummel. 

“Pinch my cheek again and you'll lose an entire arm.”

… … …

“I'm feeling good, dad. Really.” Kurt chewed on a bite of leftover mozzarella cheese from the lasagna, which was now baking in the oven. Sarge sat at his feet, interested in the milk he'd just poured into a glass. Sliding off the stool, he darted clumsily around the purring cat. He yanked open the refrigerator door, then his eyes skimmed the shelves for a particular jar. Phone tucked into his pants pocket, Kurt hummed in reply to another question as he increased the volume on his headphones to better hear his father on the other line. “Almost. I can't wait till we find time to put the finishing touches on the nursery. Ah-ha, there they are. 'K, got my olives. Now I need something... sweet. No, sour.” He tapped the tip of a finger to his chin. “Maybe spicy.”

Burt grunted. “Why don't you just slather some Sour Patch Kids in hot sauce?”

“Oh—” An _ew_ nearly fell from his lips. Kurt stopped wrinkling his nose and eyeballed the junk food drawer. “Oh?”

“That was a joke,” it was pointed out. 

“Was it? 'Cause to me and the baby, it sounded like a delicious suggestion.” He put the black olives out on the counter and then on second thought, also grabbed an unopened jar of pickles. He couldn't decide which one he wanted more until a small voice inside his head asked, “Why not both?”

“Don't bring my granddaughter into your terrible concoctions.”

“It was **your** amazing concoction, actually.” As appetizing as the snack sounded, it wouldn't be worth the heartburn. While stuffing his mouth full of olives, Kurt continued to tease Burt by making up insane food combinations and insisting he'd eaten every one. 

“You can't gross me out, son. Carole? Maybe. Blaine? I imagine so. Finn, you'd probably just make him hungry. But me, nah. Iron stomach.”

After he eventually hung up with his father, Kurt took out a plate packed full of more olives and cheese, pickles, and tangerine segments to the living room. Reclined comfortably in front of the television, he was dozing off by the time he'd devoured two pickles and half the tangerine. _I just need to rest for a few minutes_ , he had insisted to himself. 

He should've known better. Forty-five minutes later, Blaine's ringtone woke Kurt up from his nap. Blinking his bleary eyes open, he then also heard a _ding_ from the kitchen. “Hold on,” he said to Blaine as he accepted the call. He continued to repeat those words as he hurried to take the lasagna out of the oven. Once he'd done that, he took a quick moment to fix his hair and pretend he wasn't out of breath. Kurt picked up his cellphone from where he had thrown it, the headphones still connected and dangling off the table. Sargent Pepper had been swatting at them with her claws out as if she were trying to destroy a long-time nemesis once and for all. 

“Sorry, but dinner's ready! You're on the train now, right? It should be cooled off by the time you get home then.” He kind of wanted to give himself a fist bump for the timing working out—despite the forty winks he'd caught. 

Except there was a telling silence on Blaine's end and Kurt did not like it. 

“Oh, that's okay. I'll just have some later.”

He shook his head, eyes glancing upward. Time to start counting backwards from ten... “I made lasagna, Blaine.”

“But I'm not coming straight home?”

Kurt raised his voice an octave higher. “I made lasagna, Blaine.”

“I'm sorry. I already agreed to meet Sam for a quick beer before the two appointments we have to look at apartments.”

'We'? Kurt felt the corner of his mouth twitching, a snarl ready to pounce out. “I know this is hard to believe, but Sam's a big boy. He can look at apartments by himself.” 

“I know. He's not himself, Kurt. I'm just trying to be a fr—”

He could feel a wetness growing in his eyes. “Or maybe,” Kurt continued over Blaine's softly spoken words, “ _Maybe_ there's a reason you don't want to come home to your pregnant husband.” There was an instant burst of regret in his gut. 

“W—what? Of course there isn't, of course I want to—gosh, Kurt. I can't—I'm not arguing about this over the phone.”

“No, you're not. _We_ 're not.” He used the sweetest, most condescending tone. “I'll see you shortly, dear.” That was that, Kurt ended the call. He slammed his phone back down onto the table and then, after a pause, checked over the case. 

Kurt lingered in the kitchen, taking deep breaths. _Some of this is hormones_ , he typed in a text message to Blaine, _and some of it isn't. We need to talk_. Albeit gentler this time and also with a little shakiness, he set the cellphone down again. 

A heavy sigh followed him as he padded out into the living room. Kurt picked up the abandoned plate of now room temperature snacks, no longer hungry. He made his way around the couch, not expecting Sargent Pepper to dash between his feet. He stumbled and dropped the dish, his ankle rolling to the side. Crying out in pain, he tried to grab hold of the back of the couch. He twisted awkwardly, landing on his backside with a gasp from having the wind knock out of him. “Ow,” he whimpered. 

He pinched his eyes shut, focusing on the movement of the baby and if—no, not really an if, but a **where** he had pain. His teeth were clenched as he shifted to lie on his side. His foot hurt; pain throbbed along the outside of his ankle. His wrist was sore from wrenching it in that sad attempt to either stop or slow down his fall. Once a flutter of fidgeting came from the wee one, Kurt let out such a harsh sigh it sounded like a pant. 

“Ow, my ass.” He still needed a moment or two to collect himself, his chest aching from how heavily his heart was beating. 

Kurt realized he really had no choice but to stay there, wait there on the floor in the fetal position. He was able to scoot back and sit semi-upright against the back of the sofa. He tucked his arms around his pregnant belly, hugging himself as his breath kept hitching. 

It would take about eighteen minutes for Blaine to arrive home. Kurt sniffed, the tears unstoppable the second he heard Blaine at the front door of their townhouse. He held in a breath, listening to the unhurried sounds of Blaine: taking off his jacket and then hanging it up in the closet, toeing off his shoes and then taking the time to line them up along the others like Kurt always asked. Blaine wouldn't see him till he rounded the corner, which he was about to—

“Kurt!”

“I, I...” He wanted to apologize profusely to his husband for having to be found like _this_ , but his brain and mouth could only commit on an, “Ow.”

Blaine dropped down onto his knees beside him, his touch featherlight as his hands moved across Kurt's sides and stomach.

“I tripped over t—the cat.” Kurt winced at that reveal. He thought about cracking a smile and joke _help, I've fallen and can't get up_. Except it wasn't much of a joke. “I—?” His voice cracked. Blaine's face crumpled as he pressed a kiss to Kurt's temple. 

“Shh, you're okay. You're okay.” He took one hand off Kurt's body to take out his cellphone and dial 9-1-1. He shushed over Kurt's stutter of a complaint. “I need an ambulance. Please, my husband's fallen and he's twenty-nine weeks pregnant.” Blaine asked him questions the dispatcher wanted to know. Kurt cut him off, groaning. 

“I can't sit like this anymore, my back is killing me. I feel like I'm going to throw up it hurts so much.”

Once it was promised an ambulance was on its way, Blaine fetched two throw pillows from the couch. He helped Kurt lie on his side again, one pillow tucked under his head and the other between his knees. He looked Kurt over again and again, his hands and voice remaining eerily steady while panic glistened in his eyes. 

“ _Ooh_ , careful. That ankle's not too happy with me.”

“It does look puffy.”

“My ankles have looked nothing but puffy since I started my second trimester,” Kurt uttered with a touch of impatience. “Ow, don't do that.”

Blaine just stated a soft, “I barely touched you.” 

Kurt scolded himself for snapping at Blaine when he was doing an amazing job at staying calm—physically calm, anyway. There was still that wild look in his eyes like he was internally screaming. He spoke gently, constantly reassuring Kurt as if he were some spooked horse. Kurt had honestly thought he would've been the one to comfort Blaine and keep him level. It upset him that Blaine had to walk in and find his husband lying injured on the floor. He'd been ready to insist _I'm fine_ and _We're fine_ and hold in a melodramatic _everything hurts_. 

“Thank you for coming home,” Kurt whispered as fresh tears were brushed off his rosy cheeks by his husband's thumb. 

No response.

He glanced upward, surprised to find Blaine's face pinched tight as if he were in physical pain himself. 

“Blaine?”

Blaine shook his head. He now fiercely kissed the top of Kurt's hair, cradling his head between his palms.

He repeated a mumbled, “You're okay.”

“Okay,” Kurt echoed numbly in neither agreement nor disagreement. 

… … …

“Can I put my gown back down now?”

“No way, my tummy time isn't over yet.” A pause lingered between them and then came a slightly petulant mumble of, “'S not ever over.”

“That's what you think. But this is ridiculous, Blaine. They brought me a tray of food so it looks like we really should expect to be here all night.”

“Shh, none of that. Happy thoughts, remember? You promised. Just eat your pudding, puddin'.”

Rather than roll his sleepy eyes, Kurt shut them. It at least soothed him, the feeling of Blaine's fingertips stroking across his skin. If only he could let himself relax or focus on something other than the embarrasing events that led up to him lying half-naked on a hospital bed in the Emergency Department.

“We might never leave,” Kurt continued anyway. 

He peeked an eye open, smiling as a pair of lips showered the dome of his belly with grateful kisses. The on-call obstetrician had already stopped in to share the news his ultrasound scan was normal. She'd even shown them a screenshot of their baby girl all curled up and sucking on her thumb, content as ever inside of her temporary home. 

Still not done complaining, Kurt sighed. “I am going to give birth in this room and we'll just have to home-school her here. Heck, someday?” He snapped his fingers. “Blaine, look at me. Someday, she might even get married in this very spot. We'll move the gurney, of course.”

“Of course.” Blaine took a break from worshiping his husband's stomach. He skimmed his fingers along the length of Kurt's forearm and then covered his hand over Kurt's. “So, I'm taking all this 'delightful' sarcasm as a good sign. How are you feeling, any better? …Worse?”

“If I were _worse_ , you and every medical personnel on this floor would know it.” Blaine didn't return a smile. Kurt squeezed his hand. “Anyway, the question that needs to be asked is: How are you being so patient?” He spoke kindly this time, hoping the gratitude he had for Blaine shone through his eyes, that Blaine knew how much he was appreciated. _You've been amazing_ , he wanted him to understand, _You're my rock_. Words weren't enough; even if they were, Blaine had already brushed him off earlier— _you don't need to thank me for being your husband, Kurt_. 

Without saying a word, Blaine climbed carefully onto the bed to sit beside Kurt. He had shaken his head at every one of Kurt's requests for him to take a seat since they'd arrived at the hospital. He leaned his upper body over Kurt's supine form and brushed his fingers through his hair. “I can be patient right now because the two most important people in my life are safe and sound, right in front of me. Our daughter is perfect and healthy a—and you, you've finally got color back in your face.” The pad of a restless thumb swept down Kurt's cheek. Blaine couldn't stop touching him and Kurt let him, greedy for every second of it.

“Definitely better,” Kurt decided after a moment as he fit his fingers around Blaine's. “My wrist stopped hurting. Oh, but I definitely pulled my hamstring and that's bothering me a little. Uh, and the ankle's still sore, especially when I move it. Do you think it's broken? No way, right?” The doctor hadn't seemed too concerned of a fracture while he'd been examining Kurt's ankle—till he palpated a tender spot along the joint line, resulting in Kurt nearly kicking the glasses off the doctor's face. 

Blaine nuzzled at the crown of Kurt's head, sneaking a kiss there. “I don't know, honey. But we'll find out soon.”

“Yeah, right. 'Soon.' Maybe in another eighty-four years.”

“You're impossible.”

“I like your tone when you say that, it's like you're just listing one of the things you love most about me.”

Blaine pressed his lips together, his shoulders raising in a silent laugh. He kissed the top of Kurt's head once more. 

“I love you,” he said and Kurt's own smile dimmed at the shakiness in his husband's voice. When Blaine lifted his head, his eyes were red-rimmed and glossy. Exhaling sharply, Kurt's heart sank at the sight. He sat up a little, his sock-clad feet slipping on the off-white linen. 

“Oh, sweetie, no. Blaine, those should be happy tears.” Blaine's cheek was moist under the palm of Kurt's hand. 

“Sorry. I just, sorry. Why am I... you're the one who—”

“Don't be silly. You can cry, too. I did and will some more, probably. Who am I kidding? Definitely. It's okay to—”

Blaine slid off the gurney to stand on his feet. “Not **now** it isn't _okay_!”

A shocked Kurt closed his mouth. The realization dawned on him, that Blaine was only scolding himself. It made Kurt want to cry in both frustration and worry and now that it was known for sure that the baby was unharmed, he wanted also to shout, “It's not a big deal.” Except “not a big deal” was far from how he would describe the passing moments after landing on his tokhes. 

A chill in the air had Kurt pulling down on his gown to cover his stomach. After a quick search in the cabinets, Blaine spotted a blanket and laid it over Kurt. Sniffing quietly, he made a show of tucking the blanket around Kurt's belly. 

Kurt threw another disinterested glance at the tray of hospital food. “I can't believe one of us didn't think to grab the lasagna on our way out.”

Blaine crinkled his nose as if he smelled something awful. “Oh, yes, because we didn't have anything else on our minds at the time. I, too, can't believe we overlooked such a high priority.” His frown faltered. “Won't someone please think of the lasagna?”

“You're making fun of me, wow.” Kurt folded his hands over his stomach. “I try to lighten the mood with a joke and you make fun of me. So rude.”

“Cheer up, Garfield.”

Kurt grimaced abruptly and then sat forward, his shoulders hunched. Blaine rubbed a hand across his upper back, his palm sliding up to cup the back of Kurt's neck.

“What?” he asked urgently. “What's wrong?”

“She just freakin' elbowed me in the kidney. Got nothing better to do, sweetie? So very rude.” He nudged his arm into Blaine's, his head tipping back slightly. “At least I know where she gets it from.”

“She probably didn't care for your lasagna 'joke.'” Blaine gently pushed back, bowing his head down to kiss Kurt on the forehead. “We'll have some as soon as we get home, promise. I had Sam put it in the fridge so it wasn't sitting out.”

Kurt let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. The doctor and his med student chose that moment to grace the room with their somber faces. 

“They do exist,” Kurt stage-whispered to his husband. 

“Kurt,” Blaine warned. 

Dr. Zero announced Kurt's ankle wasn't broken; it was “only” a severe sprain. He had the med student put Kurt's ankle in an Aircast boot and mentioned crutches. 

“'Crutches'? You think I can hop along just merrily with this?” He'd interrupted the doctor's discharge instructions. Kurt framed his belly with his hands for emphasis.

“Oh, yes.” The med student had spoken up, handing over a tablet computer to the doctor. “How far along are you again?”

His blood pressure rose at a dizzying speed. “You only care about how pregnant I am now, after examining me and ordering tests? Obviously this ginormous belly screams very pregnant.”

Dr. Zero continued as if Kurt hadn't ripped off his med student's head for asking a stupid question. “OB has cleared you. Your x-rays are unremarkable. You're good to go, Mr. Hummel. I'd like for you to follow-up with your regular OB and family doctor.” He also wanted Kurt to stay off his ankle and if it still bothered him after two weeks, he should have his family doctor refer him to an orthopedic specialist. They left, allowing Kurt time to change before a nurse would come in with his paperwork and crutches.

Kurt's clothes sat in a neat pile on the counter behind Blaine. “While we're waiting for the taxi, I'm going to call Dr. Rubino and see if maybe she can fit us in tomorrow. That way she can check you over again and _not_ that I'm saying otherwise, but make sure everything's OK with the baby.” He turned to gather the clothes and then looked back at Kurt to see if he needed any help with the gown. “Come on, don't give me that look. I'm going to worry about you two all I want. Know why? It's a free country. Oh, and because I love both of you with all my heart.”

The babbling exhausted Kurt, who had yet to even untie the hospital gown. His eyes were stuck on the removable cast strapped to his lower leg. His gaze finally lifted up to meet Blaine's. 

“This sucks,” he muttered with a fresh pout. “Crutches, Blaine. Crutches!”

“I heard, too. But hey, you're really only going to need them to move around the house. You know, in-between all the resting you're going to do. Right, Kurt? Let me repeat that, 'all the resting you're going to do.'”

“Yeah, yeah. I promise.” Ties loosened by Blaine, Kurt slipped the gown off over his head. 

“Don't promise me. Promise _her_.” Blaine stepped in closer, a hand of his grazing the side of Kurt's bare belly. 

Kurt huffed as he snatched a shirt from Blaine. “Premature guilt tripping, really?”

Blaine's eyes were impossibly large as he urged, “Do it for _her_.”

“Really, Blaine?” He moved his legs over the edge of the gurney. “Once I get my crutches, I'm hitting you with one.”

“Threatening such violence... _She_ doesn't like that, Kurt.”

“Oh, my god! Stop it.”

Blaine offered Kurt his pants. “Kiss?” he asked in way of a truce. 

Kurt nodded eagerly, never one to turn down a kiss from his husband. 

… … …


End file.
